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by orphan_account



Series: Reunion [3]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7459126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mind is a powerful thing.</p>
<p>(Takes place after "Coming Down")</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> From the commissioner again, who is stretching my fic-writing muscles more and more every day, haha.
> 
> A bit of Link schmoop for you, because that boy deserves some love.

The sky is dim.

There’s a storm rolling in, Link knows. He’s lived on this tiny island long enough to see the signs. He can feel the static in the air, knowing lightning is imminent. He can smell the oncoming rain it in the breeze, which—almost as if on cue—immediately picks up into a gusting wind that whips his hair wildly around his face.

And yet, despite the very real danger, he’s out on the beach, watching the waves grow higher and higher as the wind _really_ begins to pick up now. This isn’t good. He knows it’s not safe to be this close to the water when the waves are this unpredictable. It’s been hammered into his brain ever since he was a small child. How had he even gotten out here, anyway? Why would he purposefully endanger himself like this? He can’t remember, and that is perhaps more troubling than anything else. That is, until he sees—

Daphnes is out here with him, but at the same time not actually _with_ him. He’s off a little ways in the distance, staring at the waves himself. Why are they both here? They should really get inside before the storm gets any worse. Link wants to call out to him, but suddenly finds he has no voice, and his feet are firmly rooted in the sand. Rain begins to _pour_ down now, and he’s drenched within seconds. He hardly notices, though some deep place in the back of his mind registers the sudden temperature change. He’s frozen in place as, with some measure of fascination, he watches the King take a step closer to the water.

_No._ That’s exactly what he _shouldn’t_ do. Surely he must know that—how dangerous it can be, right? He spent all that time as a boat, he’s experienced storms like this one before. Link doesn’t know exactly how much more or less dangerous it is for a human than for a small wooden craft, but he certainly doesn’t want to stand around to find out. He wants to warn him—how the weather can be unpredictable, how lightning could strike at any time, especially here on the island, how a wave could come up and—

To his horror, the King takes another step towards the unforgiving ocean. Then another. Then another, until he’s ankle-deep in water. Now knee-deep. Link can feel his heart pounding, hear the rush of blood in his ears even over the sound of the waves. Daphnes is staring off into the distance as if he has no idea he’s even _there_. What is he doing? _What is he doing?_ Why won’t he look over here? _Why is he doing this?_ Waves are crashing _over top_ of him now, and it seems like it’s only a matter of time until…

A huge wave is building, angry and frothing in the near distance. Can the King even see it? Does he know what’s certain to happen if he continues on? It’ll only be a few seconds before it reaches landfall. Link _has_ to tell him, he _has_ to get out there somehow. But he can’t _move._ He can’t do anything, so he’s forced to watch, terrified, as his father figure takes another step—his final step—into the darkened waters.

Time is up. Link is suddenly able to move again, and he takes off at a run towards the King. The whole world slows down _just_ enough to accentuate the horror as he realizes he’ll never make it. The wave swells, higher than any wave Link has ever seen before, and then _slams_ down. Daphnes disappears completely beneath its icy depths, and is swept forever out to—

Link awakens with a gasp.

A dream.

It had just been—all a dream.

_A dream._ His heart is pounding, and he’s panting like he’d just run a marathon. He feels sick to his stomach. But none of it was real, he has to tell himself over and over. It was just a dream. A terrible manifestation of his deepest fears brought to light by his unconscious mind.

That’s all.

Somehow this knowledge doesn’t make him feel much better (or really, any better at all). He clutches the edge of his blanket tightly, a white-knuckle grip that makes his hands ache. He has to—he _needs_ to check. To make sure Daphnes is alive and well. It’s a childish impulse, but he’ll never be able to go back to sleep like this, with the tiny little “what if” nagging in the back of his mind. He needs to know, just to be sure everything is okay. Needs to know that everything will _be_ okay.

So he pulls himself out of bed, only realizing how badly he’s shaking when his wobbly knees refuse to support him at first and he nearly collapses to the floor. _Daphnes_. It’s his only thought. He has to get to Daphnes. So he forces himself to stand, making his cautious way to the small attachment built against the side of their house. His pajamas are soaked through with sweat, and that only makes him shiver harder in the cool night air. But he manages somehow, carefully turning the knob and pushing the door open as to avoid making any sound.

The King is there. Link can hear him breathing, see the gentle rise and fall of his chest in the relative darkness of the room. Tears of relief flood his eyes as he is finally able to come to terms with reality—the King is alive, he’s safe, it had truly all just been an awful dream. He’s not about to lose a piece of his family again. He thanks every being he can think of that the awful thing he’d already seen once had not come to pass yet again. Before he has any control over himself or the situation, he’s crying in earnest, hand clamped tightly over his mouth to silence his shuddering breaths.

Would it be—would it be selfish to wake him? Just to be _positive?_

Almost certainly. The King isn’t his personal babysitter, and he certainly needs his rest like every other normal person does. He doesn’t deserve to be woken in the middle of the night (what time is it, anyway?) just because of someone else’s silly dream. Link knows this. Knows he’s probably overreacting. He also knows his exhausted brain isn’t exactly the most reasonable or rational thing in the world, but he still just wants to—

His thought process comes to a screeching halt as it turns out he may not _have_ to wake him after all, as Daphnes stirs in bed—probably due to all the noise Link is desperately trying not to make. He holds his breath, willing himself to stop crying like the child he most certainly is not. However, sure enough, the King turns over and blinks open both eyes, squinting at the doorway in the dark for a moment before he asks, “Link?”

And that’s really all the invitation Link needs before he stumbles over to the bed, climbing up and wrapping his arms around as much of the King’s frame as he possibly can (which isn’t a lot, but it’s _enough_ ).

“Link, what’s—” he returns the hug, too shocked for a second to do much of anything else. But then he tries to pull away after a minute to get a good look at him, and Link is having _none_ of that. All he does is hold on tighter—both out of the genuine fear of letting go and his unwillingness to let Daphnes see his tearstained face. He just wants to stay here, like this, for a few minutes. Maybe hours. It all depends on how long it takes him to stop shaking. But Daphnes is persistent. “What’s the matter? Are you not feeling well?”

Sort of, but it’s mostly residual nausea from the horror of his dream, so he shakes his head.

“Are you sure? You seem awfully sweaty…here, just let me…” and he frees up one of his hands enough to press the back of it to Link’s forehead. “You’re a little warm, but if you aren’t feeling ill…did you have a nightmare?”

That hits the nail on the head, but it’s almost embarrassing now that all is said and done. How old is he, again? At what age should he stop needing such assurances in the middle of the night? Regardless, he needs this reassurance more than anything right _now_ , and the King deserves the truth, so he nods against his chest.

Daphnes makes a small noise of sympathy, pulling him in closer and rubbing his back—gentle strokes down his spine that make him think maybe everything _can_ be alright again. “Was it—did it involve me? I do not intend to sound self-centered, but…is that why you’re here?” A nod of affirmation confirms his suspicions, and he sighs. He reaches up to pet Link’s hair, gently running his fingers through the sweat-soaked tangles caused by tossing and turning. “Did it…was it something to do with my death?” It’s sort of a blunt question, but one that needs answering lest they spend the rest of the conversation running around in circles and getting nowhere.

Link bites his lip, nods, and sniffs as a whole new wave of tears overcomes him. He hates feeling this vulnerable, but at the same time is so thankful he has a person to _be_ vulnerable in front of. The King sits up all the way in bed, swinging his legs over the side so the boy can sit in his lap more comfortably.

“Link, I need you to listen to me, alright?” Another nod. “I promise you I am not going anywhere. I will remind you of this as many times as you need to hear it. This is my home now, you and your family are my most important people, and I have no intention of leaving any of that behind. How could I possibly do such a thing, with how purely and deeply I love you? I consider you as close as my natural-born kin—there is simply no way I would ever be willing to give that up, not now or ever.”

And Link knows that. He _knows_ , rationally, that the King would never be so cruel as to willingly embrace death now that he’s become a part of their family _._ But how is he to know whether or not _this_ is all a dream? This could very well be something made up by his mind, a desperate wish heard by no one but himself. He fears that he’ll open his eyes and the King will be gone again, swept away by reality just as easily as by the ocean.

The King clearly knows this as well, can tell that his words aren’t quite having the impact he would like, so he changes tactics. “Press your ear against my chest.” Link does as he’s told, feeling the warmth of another body against his cheek. It’s relaxing all on its own, even before Daphnes orders, “Listen closely…can you hear that?”

He listens, and he _can_. It’s his heartbeat, slow and steady, as real as anything he’s ever heard. A closer listen reveals the gentle in-and-out whoosh of his breathing as well. It’s rhythmic and balanced and most certainly _not_ made up by his own wishful mind. He nods once more, pressing as close as he can to the sounds _just_ to make sure they’re really there. It might just be the most beautiful noise he’s ever heard.

“This serves as proof that I am alive, you see? You can hear it—I know you can. I am here, with you, and I will continue to be as long as you will have me.” He tightens their hug for a few seconds, giving him a little squeeze. “You can feel my arms around you. You can hear my heart and breathing. I am _here._ I will not leave you. You know how much I care for you.” He pauses, seeming to think on the matter. “Would you like to go outside? Would that make you feel better, if we took a little walk?”

Link considers. It might help to calm his frazzled nerves—the peaceful sounds of Outset Island at night usually do. And spending more time with the King would most definitely help as well. But then again, _the ocean is right there._ No matter where they go, he’ll be able to see and smell and hear its treacherous depths, the cruelly mocking waves ready to take back what is rightfully theirs. That is an inescapable fact, and something he’s not quite sure he’s ready to face so soon after the tricks his own mind had played on him this evening.

Sensing his hesitation, the King frowns. “Is it—did your dream involve the outdoors?” A nod. They’ll have to play the guessing game again, because Link has no intention of reliving it. “Was it—was I taken in by the ocean again?”

It’s not a hard thing to guess, but despite everything, hearing it out loud still makes it worse, and Link buries his face in Daphnes’ chest in a vain attempt to hide another sudden burst of emotion.

“It’s okay,” the King tries to soothe, patting his back again. “The ocean is a friend, Link. You and I traveled it together, don’t you remember? It certainly has its dangers, but we know by now how to navigate those. And I know _you_ know how to tell when it is safe, and when it is not. We will not be in any danger if we talk a short walk along the beach.”

All truths. Still, he’s not sure if he wants to see it right now. Knowing what it _can_ do, what it _could_ do if it wanted…it’s overwhelming. It’s too much. He doesn’t want to. He’d rather stay here until morning light, hands fisted in the front of the King’s pajama shirt, until all this has passed and nothing seems as frightening anymore.

As if reading his mind (and knowing exactly what he _does not_ want to do), the King implores, “Outset Island has been your beloved home your entire life. Let’s go outside and try to remember why, okay?”

He shakes his head, but somehow that doesn’t stop the King from lifting him off his lap, placing him on his feet, and taking him by the hand to lead him out the door. He would resist—try to pull away or fight him off somehow—but a deeper part of him trusts the man enough to give this a try. Even as scared as he is.

So they’re off, careful to avoid waking Grandma or Aryll as they make their departure. The smell of the ocean hits them as soon as they’re out the door. Luckily, Link has something else to distract himself with in order to overpower his own mind’s fears—it’s lighter outside than it had been indoors, with the waxing moon shining brightly amongst thousands of stars. He takes a moment to revel in their light as they walk the slow path down to the beach. It’s almost enough to take his mind off of—

The ocean is dark, as it had been in his dream, and he has to fight back the urge to whimper and pull away. And yet…it is calm, not at all like the fictional ocean in his mind. The moon reflects off its shimmering surface as tiny waves gently lap the shore. Again, nothing at all like the monstrous behemoths in his dream. He squeezes the King’s hand tightly and receives a comforting squeeze in return.

So they walk, hand-in-hand, across the dry sand, then closer to the froth left behind by the ocean. Link yelps a little the first time a wave actually manages to reach them, clinging to Daphnes’ hand for dear life—but it’s not even ankle-deep, and he feels very silly in the aftermath. The King ruffles his hair affectionately, but does not laugh at him. He understands the power dreams can have over the mind, and Link feels an enormous wash of gratitude for that and for so many other things. Things he doesn’t even quite know how to put into words.

Thankfully, no words need be said between them as they reach the halfway point of their journey, turning around at the same moment almost as if of the same mind. Link leans into Daphnes’ side slightly at first, then not-so-slightly, as he slowly begins to realize how _tired_ he is. All that worry, and it had been for what? He trusts Daphnes more than anything else in the world—if he says he won’t leave him, then he won’t. That’s simply how it is. A promise made is a promise made, after all. He doesn’t know how any ridiculous dream could have made him think otherwise. Emotional exhaustion is the price he pays for such foolish thoughts, he supposes.

The King chuckles as Link’s head nods into his side once more. “Do you want me to carry you?” It’s a sincere offer.

He shakes his head, walks a few more steps, stumbles, reconsiders, then nods. The King laughs again as he scoops him up into his arms, cradling him to his chest. “Comfortable?”

Another nod. He can hear the steady thrum of the King’s heartbeat again, the rush of slow breathing as he marches them across the sand—and he honestly can’t remember a time when he had been more comfortable in his entire life.  
  
He doesn’t remember much of the journey back home. However, he _does_ distinctly remember clinging hard and protesting when Daphnes had attempted to return him to his own bed, the sound of more soft laughter, and falling deeply asleep with a strong arm wrapped protectively around his body.  
  
He dreams of the beach, of the waves, and of feeling at home once more.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me (and my commission availability!) at smolhero on tumblr.


End file.
